


i will sing no requiem tonight

by livtontea



Series: might you live to see the sunrise [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Lowercase, Mild Gore, No Incest, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 07:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: you’re born of flesh and blood that was never meant to be yours to begin with.





	i will sing no requiem tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [i will sing no requiem tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592043) by [Regalia92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regalia92/pseuds/Regalia92)

> this was a vent fic, but i liked how it turned out so here you go! the lack of capitalization is intentional. enjoy.
> 
> title from [requiem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AN9x0v2-deU)

you’re born of flesh and blood that was never meant to be yours to begin with. the woman who gives you the push towards life is screaming as you emerge, tears and pain clouding her vision. you have no father other than the one who slips her an envelope filled with _won_ and takes you in his hands for a brief second before depositing you into a black stroller with an umbrella on the side. you leave your birthgiver behind and do not make a single sound as you gain six siblings that are all the same age as you.

you are number six and you are four years old. your skin is smooth and your stomach is devoid of any markings, the flat plane of your abdomen often aching in the night. you are a child with something hidden lying underneath your flesh, with a father that throws condescending glances mixed with condensed fury at you when you sit down at the breakfast table, and a mother that does not yet exist. you are number six and you are a child with baby fat on your soft cheeks and a smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth.

you are number six and you are seven years old. you have monsters hiding themselves away deep inside of you, using your body as a gateway to the outer world. you don’t know what is wrong with you, you don’t know why you were chosen for this role. your abdomen is slowly gaining scars and stretch marks. you cry in pain the first time your skin rips open to let through the horrors, and you never really stop.

you are ben hargreeves and you are ten years old. the grin from when you were a child has faded over the years, now only appearing when others put in effort bringing it forward. the beasts and terrors tied to you hurt more each time they flay you to break free. you don’t know if you will be able to maintain control, or even if you have it now. on your first mission, you emerge from the building covered in blood.

you are ben hargreeves and you are thirteen years old. you used to have four brothers. you used to know how to let yourself cry. you must’ve forgotten, because now as you lie awake at night, your hands gripping your nightshirt above your stomach, your eyes are dry. every single time. your hands are cold and so is your chest, the tight coil of dread screwing itself tighter into your lungs.

you are the horror and you are fifteen. you are no longer six, nor are you ben, because you are nothing even close to resembling either one, a number or a person. you are a monster, you know, as you let yourself be wrenched apart again and then once more after that. you have forgotten how to smile and laugh, and what you remember of love is vague and blurry in your head. you no longer know how to ask anybody to save you, and you do not deserve salvation. you deserve a demise fit for the beast that lies under the careful guise of neatly trimmed beards and glinting eyewear, the monster slaughtering people by directing other’s hands to the carved handle of the blade.

you are nobody and you are seventeen, and then you are nothing and you will never be again. you are nothing and you are everything, and you are remembered and brushed aside to collect dust at once. you are extinguished in a blaze of agonizing glory, and you fall to the floor in a heap of undignified red. you close your eyes for the final time, and blink them open for the first. your mouth is frozen in a line and finally free to do as it wishes, your hands are forcibly restrained in your pockets, safely tucked away until you decide to take them out, your stomach is littered with bumps and ridges and scars and marks, and it is smooth and closed off to the other being you used to share it with - for good, is what you tell yourself as phantom pains crawls through your skin.

you are nothing you ever will be, and you are everything you ever were. you are number six, you are the horror. you are a single digit and you are an infinite expanse rolled into one, until all meaning is lost to you and to the viewers watching as you are killed by the will of a man you used to call your father.

you end it all with a scream. it’s too late to feel your brother’s hands slapping at your chest in weak denial. it’s too late to see your sister beg in silver tongues for you to take just one more breath. it’s all too late, and it will never again be early.

you are ben hargreeves, and you are dead.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr's [@seven-misfits](https://seven-misfits.tumblr.com/) if you want to come talk to me there. drop a line! i'd love to know what you thought.
> 
> ben's entire story is just,, so sad. like bitch i'm crying fight me. lmao the entire character cast works so well for projecting and/or venting onto them because they're all so fucking sad with a boatload of issues. petition to just,, let them be fucking happy.


End file.
